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The  Wings  of  Oppression 


By 
LESLIE   PINCKNEY  HILL 


BOSTON 

THE  STRATFORD  CO.,  Publishers 
1921 


UJS* 


Copyright  1921 

The  STRATFORD  CO.,  Publishers 
Boston,  Mass. 


The  Alpine  Press,  Boston,  Mass.,  U.  S.  A. 


o  Jane  Clark 


FOREWORD 


NOTHING  in  the  life  of  the  nation  has 
seemed  to  me  more  significant  than  that 
dark  civilization  which  the  colored  man  has 
built  up  in  the  midst  of  a  white  society  organ 
ized  against  it.  The  Negro  has  been  driven 
under  all  the  burdens  of  oppression,  both  ma 
terial  and  spiritual,  to  the  brink  of  desperation, 
but  he  has  always  been  saved  by  his  philosophy 
of  life.  He  has  advanced  against  all  opposition 
by  a  certain  elevation  of  his  spirit.  He  has  been 
made  strong  in  tribulation.  He  has  constrained 
oppression  te  give  him  wings. 

In  such  poems  as  Armageddon,  The  Black 
Man's  Bit,  and  Cora,  I  have  desired  to  exhibit 
something  of  this  indestructible  spiritual  qual 
ity  of  my  race.  In  the  others  I  have  wished 
merely  to  be  brought  into  harmony  with  cur 
rents  of  thought  and  feeling  common  to  all 
humanity.  I  trust  that  there  may  be  in  all  at 
least  an  implied  appeal  to  that  spirit  of  human 
brotherhood  by  which  alone  the  world  must  find 
the  path  to  peace. 

For  permission  to  reprint  some  of  these  poems 
I  am  indebted  to  "The  Crisis,"  "The  Outlook," 
"The  Independent,"  "Life,"  and  various  other 
publications. 

LESLIE  PINCKNEY  HILL. 
Cheyney,  Pennsylvania,  March,  1921. 


Contents 

The  Wings  of  Oppression 1 

POEMS  OF  MY  PEOPLE 

Armageddon    .......  5 

My  Race 13 

Tuskegee 14 

Freedom          .......  15 

Jim  Crow         .......  16 

"So  Quietly" 17 

Cora 19 

To  a  Caged  Canary 21 

Mater  Dolorosa       ......  22 

The  Black  Man's  Bit 23 

To  the  Chinese 26 

Matto  Grosso      .        .        .        .        .        .     .  27 

Self-Determination 31 

POEMS  OF  THE  TIMES 

A  Call  to  Poets 35 

The  Ships 37 

Ode  to  Patriotism 40 

The  Launching  of  the  Quistconk      .         .         .42 
The  Heart  of  the  World  .        .        .        .44 

Clemenceau     .......  45 

The  Founder 46 

To  All  Leaders  of  Men 48 

Brixton  Prison                                                   .  50 


CONTENTS 

POEMS  OF  APPRECIATION 

Lines  Written  in  the  Alps  above  Chamonix      .     55 

To  the  Smartweed 59 

To  William  James  .        .        .    *  .         .         .61 

To  Mrs.  J.  B.  T 62 

Two  Women 63 

The  Actress 64 

The  Piano-Player 65 

Prevision         .......     66 

To  a  Nobly-gifted  Singer         .        .         .        .67 

Katerina  Breshkovskaya         .        .         .        .68 

Christmas  at  Melrose 69 

The  Metropolitan  Tower          .        .         .        .71 

A  City  Park 72 

The  Symphony 73 

The  Borglum  Statue  of  Lincoln       .         .         .75 

She  Will  Come 76 

Spring 79 

The  Dogwood 80 

May  Again 82 

Summer  Magic        ....  85 

Sacred  Music  at  Sea 87 

Vacation  End          ....  89 

Boys  Swimming 90 

A  Legend  of  the  Easter  Children     .  91 


SONGS 


f 
Sweetest,  let  no  cloud  of  sorrow       .         .         .97 

Lady  who  is  richer  far 98 

All  through  the  day  I  bore  the  pain  .         .     99 

Mutatis  Mutandis    .  ,  100 


CONTENTS 

POEMS  OP  THE  SPIRIT 

A  Prayer 103 

A  Far  Country 104 

Nil  Desperandum 105 

Ideal 106 

The  Wonder    .......  108 

Watch  Night 109 

Values 110 

Tyrant  Beauty Ill 

The  Three  Marys 113 

Companionship        ......  114 

Home  is  the  Heart 115 

Compensation          ......  117 

Certainty- 118 

In  the  Still  Night 119 

Father  Love 120 

Divine  Affinity 121 

Learning  to  Walk 122 

The  Teacher    ,  .  124 


The  Wings  of  Oppression 

I  HAVE  a  song  that  few  will  sing 
In  honor  of  all  suffering, 
A  song  to  which  my  heart  can  bring 
The  homage  of  believing — 
A  song  the  heavy-laden  hears 
Above  the  clamor  of  his  fears, 
While  still  he  walks  with  blinding  tears, 
And.  drains  the  cup  of  grieving. 

I  ask  not  why,  I  only  see 

How  poor  is  all  our  potency, 

How  soon  the  wise,  the  strong,  the  free 

Some  deadly  bane  discloses ; 

While  he  whose  bread  is  doubly  priced, 

By  whom  all  gain  is  sacrificed, 

Keeps  near  to  beauty,  near  to  Christ, 

And  Socrates  and  Moses. 

The  captains  and  the  gilded  kings, 
With  all  their  marshalled  underlings, 
Are  found  to  be  but  puny  things, 
Impermanent  and  hollow; 


THE  WINGS  OF  OPPRESSION 

While  up  through  terror,  blood  and  dearth, 
Poor  men  accounted  little  worth, 
Still  raise  the  beacon  lights  of  earth 
For  truth  and  faith  to  follow. 

So  long  as  life  is  steeped  in  wrong, 

And  nations  cry :  ' '  How  long,  how  long ! ' ' 

I  look  not  to  the  wise  and  strong 

For  peace  and  self-possession; 

But  right  will  rise,  and  mercy  shine, 

And  justice  lift  her  conquering  sign 

Where  lowly  people  starve  and  pine 

Beneath  a  world  oppression. 

0  sweet  is  power,  dear  is  ease, 
And  beauty  cannot  fail  to  please, 
But  mightier  far  than  all  of  these 
Those  chastenings  of  sorrow 
By  which  alone  the  heart  will  dare 
To  mount  beyond  a  world  of  care 
On  visions  bright  beyond  compare 
Of  better  things  tomorrow. 


POEMS  OF  MY  PEOPLE 


POEMS  OF  MY  PEOPLE 


Armageddon 

Written  at  the  outbreak  of  the  world  war, — just 
after  President  Wilson's  appeal  to  the  country  for  a 
"poise  of  undisturbed  judgment," — to  express  the 
significance  to  the  trammeled  millions  of  colored  peo 
ple  the  world  over,  and  especially  to  the  American 
Negro,  of  that  spirit  of  the  times  which  well  nigh  des 
troyed  civilization.  The  poem  was  originally  pub 
lished  in  "The  Crisis"  under  the  title,  "Die  Zeitgeist." 

BEFORE"  the  whirlwind   and  the  thunder- 
.  shock, 

The  agony  of  nations,  and  this  wild 
Eruption  of  the  passionate  will  of  man, 
These  tottering  bastions  of  mighty  states, 
This  guillotine  of  culture,  and  this  new 
Unspeakable  Golgotha  of  the  Christ, 
My  heart  declares  her  faith,  and,  undismayed, 
I  write  her  prompting — write  it  in  that  poise 
Of  judgment  undisturbed  to  which  our  Head 
Admonishes  the  nation. 

But  have  I 

A  certain  warrant?    Does  the  cannon  roar 
Above  the  mangled  myriads  washed  in  blood 

[5] 


THE  WINGS  OF  OPPRESSION 

Upon  a  hundred  fields  embolden  me 
To  vent  the  doctrine  of  a  private  heart ! 
Nay,  ask  it  not,  for  God  hath  chosen  still 
The  weak  thing,  and  the  foolish,  and  the  base, 
And  that  which  is  despised  to  work  His  will ; 
And  humble  men  are  chartered  yet  to  run 
Upon  His  errands  round  the  groaning  sphere. 
Not  many  of  the  mighty  shall  be  called, 
Not  many  that  dispute,  not  many  wise, 
That  so  the  prophecy  may  be  fulfilled. 

Among  the  least  of  men  of  many  strains. 
Whose  origin  outdates  the  pyramids, 
Uncherished  of  my  country — though  the  blood 
Of  all  my  fathers  ran  to  make  her  free — 
Known  by  a  name  that  typifies  the  slave, 
Synonymous  with  darkness,  and  by  that 
Set  in  the  ranks  of  mortals  least  esteemed, 
I  claim  no  merit  save  the  love  of  truth, 
And  care  to  find  for  her  a  lodging-place. 

I  have  been  bred  and  born  beneath  the  stern 

Duress  and  cold  inhospitality 

Of  that  environment  which  prejudice 

Fills  consciously  with  bane ;  and  I  have  sough t- 

Blessed  be  the  God  of  mercy--at  the  shrine 

Of  thought  inviolate  the  wells  of  peace. 

[6] 


POEMS  OF  MY  PEOPLE 

There,  fortified  and  unmolested,  long 
Have  I  in  contemplation  rued  the  plight 
Of  all  my  kind,  and  reverently  aspired 
To  ponder  out  our  mission,  unconvinced 
That  we  are  born  the  dupes  of  Providence, 
To  be  a  nation's  burden  and  her  taunt, 
Or  Ishmaels  of  an  unchosen  land. 

My  quest  has  been  to  know  the  good  of  life, 
And  why  a  race  should  be,  and  what  endures 
Of  that  which  man  has  called  society, 
And — last  and  highest  aim  of  these  pursuits— 
To  learn -what  perfect  service,  born  of  throes 
Dreadful  but  purgative,  we  yet  might  dare 
To  offer  thee,  0  country  of  our  hope. 

And  from  these  musings — thanks  to  Him 
Whose  citadels  are  stars,  with  time  and  space 
Their  pylons,  but  Who  builds  His  favored  home 
Upon  the  docile  trust  of  lowly  hearts- 
Proceeded  comfort,  patience  to  endure, 
And  strength  increasing  of  a  faith  sublime 
Which  neither  infidelity  in  arms, 
Nor  all  the  bitter  usage  of  the  world 
Can  e'er  avail  to  tarnish  or  impair. 

[7] 


THE  WINGS  OF  OPPRESSION 

For  looking  out  upon  the  world  I  saw 
No  hope  for  future  man  in  those  who  stand 
Upon  the  heights  of  power,  save  in  the  tales 
Transmitted  of  their  slow  decline  and  fall. 
Because  they  spurn  the  truth  of  brotherhood, 
And  trade  in  life,  and  mock  the  living  God 
By  high  contempt  of  all  His  humbler  sons, 
The  strong  battalions  of  eternal  right 
And  nature's  law  make  their  discomfort  sure. 
They  prove  the  error  of  that  pride  of  race 
And  nation  which  has  been  the  world's  despite, 
And  unloosed  Mammon  for  a  thousand  years. 
Not  all  their  transient  lordship  of  the  earth, 
Their  cunning  in  the  traffic  of  the  world, 
The  condescension  of  their  patronage, 
Or  thundering  proclamations  of  their  might, 
Can  check  the  springs  of  pity,  while  our  prayers 
Besiege  the  throne  of  mercy  for  their  weal. 

But  looking  in  upon  my  stricken  peers, 
I  saw  upon  their  swarthy  brows  ' '  the  gleam ; ' ' 
I  saw  the  lineaments  of  hope  new-born 
For  peoples  yet  to  be.     0  scorn  it  not, 
Ye  mighty  of  all  lands,  ye  that  are  raised 
To  glory  on  the  necks  of  trampled  men ! 
For  now  within  your  midst  are  multitudes 
Puissant  though  despised,  meek  men  of  prayer, 

[8] 


POEMS  OP  MY  PEOPLE 

Dark,  shackled  knights  of  labor,  clinging  still 

Amidst  a  universal  wreck  of  faith 

To  cheerfulness,  and  foreigners  to  hate. 

These  know  ye  not,  these  have  ye  not  received, 

But  these  shall  speak  to  you  Beatitudes. 

Around  them  surge  the  tides  of  all  your  strife, 

Above  them  rise  the  august  monuments 

Of  all  your  outward  splendor,  but  they  stand 

Unenvious  in  thought,  and  bide  their  time. 

Because  ye  schooled  them  in  the  arts  of  life, 
And  gave  to  them  your  God,  and  poured  your 

blood 

Into  their  veins  to  make  them  what  they  are, 
They  shall  not  fail  you  in  your  hour  of  need. 
They  hold  in  them  enough  of  you  to  feel 
All  that  has  made  you  masters  in  your  time — 
The  power  of  art  and  wealth,  unending  toil, 
Proud  types  of  beauty,  an  unbounded  will 
To  triumph,  wondrous  science,  and  old  law— 
These  have  they  learned  to  value  and  to  share. 

But  deeper  in  them  still  is  something  steeled 
To  hot  abhorrence  and  unmeasured  dread 
Of  your  undaunted  sins  against  the  light  - 

[9] 


THE  WINGS  OF  OPPRESSION 

Red  sins  of  lust,  of  envy  and  of  greed, 
Of  guilty  gain  extorted  from  the  weak, 
Of  brotherhood  traduced  and  God  denied. 
All  this  have  they  beheld  without  revolt, 
And  borne  the  brunt  in  agonizing  prayer. 
For  those  deep  strains  of  blood  that  flow  from 

times 

Older  than  Egypt,  whence  the  dark  man  gave 
The  rudiments  of  learning  to  all  lands, 
Have  been  a  strong  constraint.    And  they  have 

dreamed 

Of  a  peculiar  mission  under  heaven, 
And  felt  the  force  of  unexampled  gifts 
That  make  for  them  a  rare  inheritance — 
The  gift  of  cheerful  confidence  in  men, 
The  gift  of  calm  endurance,  solacing 
An  infinite  capacity  for  pain, 
The  gift  of  an  unfeigned  humilit}^ 
That  blinds  the  eyes  of  strident  arrogance 
And  bigot  pride  to  that  philosophy 
And  that  far-glancing  wisdom  which  it  veils, 
The  gift  of  feeling  for  all  forms  of  life, 
Of  deathless  hope  in  trouble,  and  of  wide 
Adaptive  power  without  a  parallel 
In  chronicles  of  men,  and  over  all, 
And  more  than  all  besides,  the  gift  of  God 
Expressed  in  rhythmic  miracles  of  song. 

[10] 


POEMS  OF  MY  PEOPLE 

0  these  are  gifts,  I  said  a  thousand  times 
Richer  than^Ophir,  stronger  than  the  might 
Of  armament  to  conquer  and  to  cure- 
Gifts  destined  yet  to  permeate  the  earth, 
To  heal  it  of  its  mighty  heresies, 
Arid  all  its  brutal  blasphemy  of  war. 

So  viewing  all  my  brothers  in  distress, 

Hindered  and  cursed  and  aliens,  I  have  wept 

And  prayed  for  them  in  solitude  apart, 

That  they  might  know  themselves  a  chosen  folk, 

Unrecognized  Jbut  potent,  chastened  still, 

But  chartered  to  be  ministers  of  truth, 

To  search'  the  depths  of  spirit,  to  go  forth 

To  woo  and  win  a  perfect  self-control, 

To  breed  strong  children  exercised  in  prayer, 

Shunning  as  they  would  death  the  patterns  set 

By  those  who  hold  the  kingdoms  and  the  sway. 

So  might  they  with  the  pregnant  years  become 

New  arbiters  of  social  destiny, 

New  health  veins  in  the  body  politic, 

A  high-commissioned  people,  mingled  through 

With  all  the  bloods  of  man,   and,   counselling 

Peace,  and  the  healing  grace  of  brotherhood, 

' '  Have  power  in  this  dark  world  to  lighten  it, 

And  power  in  this  dead  world  to  make  it  live." 


When  through  my  being,  like  a  lyre  strung, 
These  winds  of  temporal  occurrence  sweep, 
I  hear  a  kind  of  music,  high  and  low, 
And  ranging  from  the  tortured  earth  to  heaven, 
Throbbing  with  tragic  cadence  to  express 
The  passing  and  the  coming  life  of  man. 

And  though  the  tempests  rage  and  earth  be 

stirred 

To  her  foundations,  though  the  lucid  air 
Become  a  menace,  and  the  beauteous  world 
Be  bathed  in  fire,  I  am  undismayed. 
The  cataclysmic  travail  prophecies 
The  dawn  of  one  world-conscience  for  all  men, 
The  breaking  up  of  caste  and  race  and  creed, 
The  warfare  of  all  war  against  itself. 

And  hence  in  my  low  place  this  living  peace 
That   grows  and  deepens,   while   the  staggered 

frames 

Of  ancient  kingdoms  reel  beneath  a  weight 
Of  crimes  so  vast  that  genius  strives  in  vain 
To  compass  them  in  thought :  for  out  of  this, 
The  spirit  saith,  shall  issue  other  breeds 
Soul-burdened  like  my  brothers,  and  like  them 
Despised  and  trammeled,  but  sent  forth  to  teach 
That  nothing  in  the  changing  world  endures 
But  truth  and  love  and  brotherhood  and  God. 

[12] 


M 


My  Race 

Y  life  were  lost,  if  I  should  keep 
A  hope-forlorn  and  gloomy  face, 

And  brood  upon  my  ills,  and  weep 
And  mourn  the  travail  of  my  race. 

Who  are  my  brothers  ?    Only  those 
Who  were  "my  own  complexion  swart? 
Ah  no,  but  all  through  whom  there  flows 
The  blood-stream  of  a  manly  heart. 

Wherever  the  light  of  dreams  is  shed, 
And  faith  and  love  to  toil  are  bound, 
There  will  I  stay  to  break  my  bread, 
For  there  my  kinsmen  will  be  found. 


THE  WINGS  OF  OPPRESSION 


Tuskegee 

WHEREFORE  this    busy    labor    without 
rest? 

Is  it  an  idle  dream  to  which  we  cling, 
Here  where  a  thousand  dusky  toilers  sing 
Unto  the  world  their  hope?  "Build  we  our  best 
By  hand  and  thought,"  they  cry,  "although  un 
blessed.  ' ' 

So  the  great  engines  throb  and  anvils  ring, 
And  so  the  thought  is  wedded  to  the  thing ; 
But  what  shall  be  the  end,  and  what  the  test  ? 
Dear  God,  we  dare  not  answer,  we  can  see 
Not  mam'  steps  ahead,  but  this  we  know — 
If  all  our  toilsome  building  is  in  vain, 
Availing  not  to  set  our  manhood  free, 
If  envious  hate  roots  out  the  seed  we  sow, 
The  South  will  wear  eternallv  a  stain. 


['4] 


Freedom 

O   FREEDOM,  let    thy    perfect    work    be 
wrought 

In  us,  the  children  of  a  chastened  race. 
Long,  long  ago  in  thy  benignant  face 
Our  fathers   saw  "the  gleam."     They  meekly 

brought 

Their  shackled  limbs  in  faith  to  thee,  and  sought 
Thy  heart  with  prayer;   and  thou  didst   rend 

apace 

The  bonds  of  men  who  leaned  upon  thy  grace, 
Their  spirits  with  a  tuneful  patience  fraught. 
We  call  upon  thee  now  no  more  in  chains 
Such    as   our   fathers   wore — from   these   we're 

freed — 

But  clanging  still  the  fetters  of  the  soul. 
"The  gleam"  we  follow  weakly,  for  we  need 
The  Freedom  of  a  sturdy  self-control  . 


Jim  Crow 

BY  Avhat  dread  logic,  by  what  grand  neglect, 
Wide  as  our  nation,  doth  this  relic  last — 
This  relic  of  old  sterile  customs  past 
Long  since  into  deep  shame  without  respect? 
Even  I  whom  this  contrivance  fain  would  teach 
A  low  submission,  pray  within  my  soul 
That  these  my  masters  may  not  reap  the  dole 
Of  finding  remedy  beyond  their  reach. 
In  lofty  mood  I  mount  the  reeking  box, 
And  travel  through  the  land.    So  Terence  once 
Moved  in  old  Rome,  so — wondrous  paradox — 
Moved  Esop  in  old  Greece,  the  dwarf  and  dunce, 
Then  I  reflect  how  their  immortal  wit 
Makes  the  world  laugh  with  mockery  of  it. 


[16] 


POEMS  OF  MY  PEOPLE 


"So  Quietly" 

News  item  from  the  New  York  Times  on  the  lynch 
ing  of  a  Negro  at  Smithville,  Ga.,  December  21,  1919 

"The  train  was  boarded  so  quietly  .  .  .  that  mem 
bers  of  the  train  crew  did  not  know  that  the  mob  had 
seized  the  Negro  until  informed  by  the  prisoner's 

guard  after  the  train  had  left  the  town A 

coroner's  inquest  held  immediately  returned  the  ver 
dict  that  West  came  to  his  death  at  the  hands  of  un 
identified  men.-" 

SO  quietly  they  stole  upon  their  prey 
And  dragged  him  out  to  death,  so  without 

flaw 

Their  black  design,  that  they  to  whom  the  law 
Gave  him  in  keeping,  in  the  broad,  bright  day, 
Were  not  aware  when  he  was  snatched  away ; 
And  when  the  people,  with  a  shrinking  awe, 
The  horror  of  that  mangled  body  saw, 
' '  By  unknown  hands ! ' '  was  all  that  they  could 
say. 

So,  too,  my  country,  stealeth  on  apace 

The  soul-blight  of  a  nation.    Not  with  drums 

Or  trumpet  blare  is  that  corruption  sown, 

[17] 


THE  WINGS  OF  OPPRESSION 

But  quietly — now  in  the  open  face 
Of  day,  now  in  the  dark — and  when  it  comes, 
Stern  truth  will  never  write,  "By  hands  un 
known." 


[18] 


POEMS  OF  MY  PEOPLE 


Cora 

I  WOULD  that  you  knew  my  Cora, 
Lithe,  high-minded,  buoyant  maid, 
Her  face  is  dusk  like  the  twilight  shade, 
But  her  fine  teeth  gleam,  and  her  eyes  are  bright 
With  a  heartening  mirth  and  a  tender  light. 
I  would  that  you  knew  my  Cora. 

I  would  you  could  see  my  Cora. 

Sometimes  we  walk  upon  the  street 

And  many  a  fairer  lady  meet : 

With  gay  apparel  and  lofty  air 

They  haven't  so  much  as  a  glance  to  spare 

For  passing  dusky  Cora. 

Then  I  look  over  at  Cora. 

Her  step  is  light,  her  head  is  high, 

The  joy  of  living  is  in  her  eye, 

She  seems  a  part  of  all  she  sees — 

It  is  one  and  the  same  if  the  ladies  please 

To  look  or  not  to  Cora. 

[19] 


THE  WINGS  OF  OPPRESSION 

Once  when  I  walked  with  Cora 
We  hungered  in  the  tedious  way 
And  turned  aside  for  bread,  but  they 
Who  kept  the  place  in  whispers  said 
That  dusky  folk  they  never  fed, 
Folk  like  myself  and  Cora. 

0  I  would  you  had  then  seen  Cora. 
The  surge  of  pride  that  filled  her  heart 
Compelled  one  burning  tear  to  start, 
But  she  brushed  it  by  with  a  queenly  shame, 
Nor  spoke  one  word  of  wrath  or  blame, 
But  went  forth  blithely  as  she  came, 
And  I  went  forth  with  Cora. 


20J 


POEMS  OF  MY  PEOPLE 


To  a  Caged  Canary  in  a  Negro  Restaurant 

THOU  little  golden  bird  of  happy  song'! 
A  cage  cannot  restrain  the  rapturous  joy 
Which  thou  dost  shed  abroad.    Thou  dost  employ 
Thy  bondage  for  high  uses.     Grievous  wrong 
Is  thine ;  yet  in  thy  heart  glows  full  and  strong 
The  tropic  sun,  though  far  beyond  thy  flight, 
And  though  thou  flutterest  there  by  day  and 

night 

Above  the  clamor  of  a  dusky  throng. 
So  let  my  will,  albeit  hedged  about 
By  creed  and  caste,  feed  on  the  light  within ; 
So  let  my  song  sing  through  the  bars  of  doubt 
With  light  and  healing  where  despair  has  been ; 
So  let  my  people  bide  their  time  and  place, 
A  hindered  but  a  sunny-hearted  race. 


[21] 


THE  WINGS  OF  OPPRESSION 


Mater  Dolorosa 

O  MOTHER,    there    are    moments    when    I 
know 

God's  presence  to  the  full.    The  city  street 
May  wrap  me  in  the  tumult  and  the  heat 
Of  futile  striving ;  bitter  winds  may  blow 
With  winter-wilting  freeze  of  hail  and  snow, 
And  all  my  hopes  lie  shattered  in  defeat ; 
But  in  my  heart  the  springtime  blossoms  sweet, 
And  heaven  seems  very  near  the  way  I  go. 

These  moments  are  the  angels  of  that  prayer 
Which  thou  has  breathed  for  many  a  troubled 

year 

With  bended  knee  and  swarthy-streaming  face — 
' '  Uphold  him,  Father,  with  a  double  care : 
He  is  but  mortal,  yet  his  days  must  bear 
The  world  cross,  and  the  burden  of  his  race." 


[22] 


POEMS  OF  MY  PEOPLE 


The  Black  Man's  Bit 

O   THERE'S  talk  from  school  to  pulpit,  and 
the  barber's  place  is  rife, 
And  the  shoe  shop  and  the  supper  table  hum, 
With  the  tale  of  Dixie 's    black    men    who    have 

shared  the  mighty  strife 
For  that  freedom  of  the  better  time  to  come. 
Every  mother's  eye  is  brighter,  every  father's 

back  is  straighter, 

And  our  girls  are  tripping  lightly  in  their  pride, 
And  by  none  except  a  Teuton,  or  a  slacker,  or  a 

traitor, 
Will  the  right  to  their  elation  be  denied. 

They  said  they  were  too  slow,  too  dull,  too  this 
and  that  to  do  it, 

They  couldn't  match  the  method  of  the  Hun, 

And  then  to  arm  a  million — why,  the  land  would 
surely  rue  it 

If  a  million  blacks  were  taught  to  use  a  gun. 

But  right  won  out,  and  they  went  in  at  all  de 
tractors  smiling; 

They  learned  as  quick  as  any  how  to  shoot, 

[23] 


THE  WINGS  OF  OPPRESSION 

They  took  the  prize  at  loading  ships,  and  rivet 
ing  and  piling, 
And  trained  a  thousand  officers  to  boot. 

And  when  they  went  'twas  with  a  boon  no  others 

had  been  bringing, 

For  whether  with  a  pick  or  with  a  gun, 
They  lightened  every  labor  with  a  wondrous  sort 

of  singing, 

And  turned  the  pall  of  battle  into  fun. 
0  the  Frenchman  was  a  marvel,  and  the  Yankee 

was  a  wonder, 

And  the  British  line  was  like  a  granite  wall, 
But  for  singing  as  they  leaped  away  to  draw  the 

Kaiser's  thunder, 
The  swarthy  sons  of  Dixie  beat  them  all. 

And  now  that  they  have  helped  to  break  the 
rattling  Hunnish  sabre, 

They'll  trail  the  Suwanee  Eiver  back  again 

To  Dixie  home,  and  native  song,  and  school  and 
honest  labor, 

To  be  as  men  among  their  fellow-men. 

No  special  thanks  or  praise  they'll  ask,  no  clap 
ping  on  the  shoulder — 

They  did  their  bit,  and  won,  and  all  men  know 
it— 


And  Dixie  will  be  proud  of  them,  and  grown  a 

little  older, 
And  wiser,  too,  will  welcome  them  and  show  it. 


[25] 


THE  WINGS  OF  OPPRESSION 


To  the  Chinese 

REJOICE,  0  ancient  brothers  of  the  East. 
I  hear  your  voices  thrill  across  the  seas, 
And  hail  you,  too,  unto  the  marriage  feast 
Of  waking  men.    Did  not  the  Japanese 
Put  on  the  wedding  garments  bright  and  new 
Though  long  denied  by  silly  creeds  of  skin. 
Rise  ye,    and    break    the      "cake    of    custom" 

through, 

And,  at  the  New  World  bidding,  enter  in. 
Faint  not,  0  brothers,  if  the  forward  way 
Must  lie  through  fire  and  famine,  death  and 

blood. 

There  follow  you  the  kindling  sympathies 
Of  other  trammeled  millions,  and  some  day 
These  shall  pour  forth  in  swarthy  hordes  and 

flood 
Some  worthy  field,  and  be  your  staunch  allies. 


[26] 


POEMS  OF  MY  PEOPLE 


Matto  Grosso 

In  the  unexplored  fastnesses  of  Brazil,  known  as 
Matto  Grosso,  the  great  South  American  scientist 
and  statesman,  Rondon,  has  proved  the  power  of 
unafraid  democracy  to  elevate  a  backward  race. 
His  great  work  has  brought  hope  and  inspiration  to 
millions  of  colored  people  here  in  the  northern  con 
tinent. 

THY  fastnesses  are  like  the  untried  depths 
Of  the  unfathomed  soul  of  man — as  dark, 
As  terrible-,  as  full  of  healing  balm, 
With  danger  lurking  where  no  eye  can  see, 
Trackless  and  wild,  yet  docile  to  the  touch 
Of  sympathy,  and  pregnant  with  all  good. 
The  shadows  brooding  like  a  guilty  thought 
About  thee  bar  the  long-besieging  sun, 
And  lure  the  mind  to  prophecy  and  fear. 

Thou  art  a  mighty  mother  boasting  in 

An  inexhaustible  fecundity. 

What     breathing,     struggling,     furtive,     feral 

thing 
Hast  thou  not  brought  to  life !     Thy  vastness 

teems 


THE  WINGS  OF  OPPRESSION 

With  such  an  upward  urge  of  flaming  trees, 

Of  vine  and  herb  and  flower  and  weed  and  shrub, 

Of  little  swarming  insect  parasites, 

Of  fiery  creatures  bent  upon  their  prey, 

Of  birds  with  all  the  colors  God  has  made, 

That  nature  could  herself  dream  nothing  more. 

And  thou  hast  bred  a  race  of  primal  men — 

A  child-like  folk.     They  stand  within  the  doors 

Of  the  great  mansion-house  of  fateful  time, 

Gazing  within  the  chambers  of  the  past 

Where  all  their  kinsmen  died  in  tragedy, 

And  with  a  little  fleeting  smile  of  hope 

As  they  look  out  upon  the  times  to  come — 

Surviving  naked  men,  the  challengers 

Of  judgment  and  of  all  democracy. 

And  yet  thou  art  a  virgin.    Thou  dost  hold 
Thy  untouched  treasures  all  inviolate, 
Till  men  with  wider  knowledge,  finer  skill, 
With  passionate  devotion,  and  a  faith 
That  makes  it  joy  to  bind  their  lives  to  thee 
With  all  their  fortunes  and  unstinted  toil, 
Shall  woo  thy  heart  and  win  thee  to  themselves. 
Then  from  thy  womb  shall  spring  another  breed 
Of  new-world  people  teeming  to  possess 
Thy  future,  to  unlock  thy  nameless  stores 
And  use  the  fullness  of  thy  virile  strength 

[28] 


To  build  a  fair  new  nation  of  free  men 
In  justice,  mercy,  brotherhood  and  truth. 

0  wild  demesne,  thou  art  a  wilderness, 
And  yet  thou  art  to  me  a  promised  land 
More  wonderful  than  that  which  Israel 
Sought  by  the  special  leadership  of  God. 
For  one  there  is  already  called  to  be 
More  than  thy  Moses,  one  who  holds  the  wand 
Of  modern  science  that  shall  make  thy  voice 
Articulate,  and  link  thy  largesse  up 
With  all  its  multiplying  benefits, 
By  open  pathways  to  the  waiting  world— 
Rondon,  thy  bounteous  father. 

Let  me  tell 

How  thy  warm  southern  winds  have  wafted  on 
His  name  to  stir  our  harsher  northern  clime, 
How  I,  myself,  son  of  a  race  oppressed, 
Have  seen  afar  there  in  thy  tropic  sun 
His  banner  flying  high  with  God's  good  will 
Emblazoned  bold  upon  it,  and  how  all 
My  troubled  brothers  grasp  anew  at  life 
With  firmer  confidence    because  of  him, 
'Tis  he,  and  such  as  he  alone,  whose  hand 
Can  mend  the  riven  fabric  of  the  world, 
Or  use  the  fragile  instruments  of  peace 


THE  WINGS  OF  OPPRESSION 

In  that  dread  surgery  whose  end  shall  be 
To  lop  from  off  the  body  of  mankind 
The  cancerous,  fetid,  tumor-growth  of  war. 

Land  of  all  marvels,  I  will  end  my  song, 
My  prayerful  song  of  honor  unto  thee, 
By  deep  thanksgiving  to  thy  mother  soul 
For  pouring  down  from  forest,  hill  and  glade 
Unnumbered  multitudes  of  little  streams 
And  springs  that  grow  to  rivers  rushing  on 
To  find  the  sea.    Where  is  the  like  of  these 
For  number  or  for  meaning !    Where  is  earth 
So  laved,  so  watered  without  ceasing,  or 
So  nurtured  into  all  productiveness? 
For  ages  have  those  waters  run  their  course 
At  length  unto  the  ocean,  blending  there 
With  all  the  tides  that  beat  upon  the  shores 
Of  every  habitable  land.    In  vain 
Have  they  for  ages  gathered  there  to  sing 
That  life  is  one,  and  man  and  God  are  one, 
And  love  and  truth  and  beauty  all  are  one. 


[30] 


POEMS  OF  MY  PEOPLE 


Self-Determination 

THE  PHILOSOPHY  OP  THE  AMERICAN   NEGRO 

FOUR  things  we  will  not  do,  in  spite  of  all 
That  demons  plot  for  our  decline  and  fall ; 
We  bring  four  benedictions  which  the  meek 
Unto  the  proud  are  privileged  to  speak, 
Four  gifts   by   which   amidst    all   stern-browed 

races 
We  move  with  kindly  hearts  and  shining  faces. 

We  ivill  not  hate.    Law,  custom,  creed  and  caste, 
All  notwithstanding,  here  we  hold  us  fast. 
Down  through  the  years  the  mighty  ships  of 

state 
Have  all  been  broken  on  the  rocks  of  hate. 

We  will  not  cease  to  laugh  and  multiply 
We  slough  off  trouble,  and  refuse  to  die. 
The  Indian  stood  unyielding,  stark  and  grim; 
We  saw  him  perish,  and  we  learned  of  him 
To  mix  a  grain  of  philosophic  mirth 
With  all  the  crass  injustices  of  earth. 


THE  WINGS  OF  OPPRESSION 

We  will  not  use  the  ancient  carnal  tools 
These  never  won,  yet  centuries  of  schools, 
Of  priests,  and  all  the  work  of  brush  and  pen 
Have  not  availed  to  win  the  wisest  men 
From  futile  faith  in  battleship  and  shell : 
We  see  them  fall,  and  mark  that  folly  well. 

We  will  not  waver  in  our  loyalty. 
No  strange  voice  reaches  us  across  the  sea; 
No  crime  at  home  shall  stir  us  from  this  soil. 
Ours  is  the  guerdon,  ours  the  blight  of  toil, 
But  raised  above  it  by  a  faith  sublime 
We  choose  to  suffer  here  and  bide  our  time. 

And  if  we  hold  to  this,  we  dream  some  day 
Our  countrymen  will  follow  in  our  way  . 


POEMS  OF  THE  TIMES 


POEMS  OF  THE  TIMES 


A  Call  to  Poets 

1 

RISE  up  from  dalliance  with  little  things, 
0  poets  of  all  lands.    Your  golden  age 
Is  now,  and  all  the  world  your  heritage. 
The  nations  perish  till  ye  sweep  the  strings 
With  re-creative  music.     He  that  sings 
With  power  now  to  calm  the  peoples'  rage 
Will  bind  the  future  to  his  tutelage, 
And  give  the  heavy-laden  present  wings. 
Where  is  your  lost  dominion?    Once  ye  framed 
A  heaven  of  beauty  pillared  firm  in  peace, 
And  ye  were  called  the  shepherds  of  the  soul 
By  what    default    was     that    high    priesthood 

shamed  ? 

How  did  the  magic  of  your  music  cease 
To  win  the  human  heart,  and  keep  it  whole  ? 

2 

The  world  is  all  a  wrack  and  battle-storm. 
Stand  not  abashed  while  the  red  warriors  break 
The  heart  of  Christ,  and  blundering  statesmen 
quake 

[35] 


THE  WINGS  OF  OPPRESSION 

In  impotence.    Build  in  great  verse  that  norm 
By  which  to  mold  this  chaos  back  to  form. 
Let  not  one  line  be  lawless,  lest  ye  make 
A  wider  wreckage  still.    Now  must  ye  wake 
The  lyre  of  peace  with  passion  deep  and  warm. 
Tell  mortals  that  the  tides  of  night  and  day, 
The  dewdrop,  and  the  planet's  mighty  swing 
Nay,  life  and  death  itself,  must  all  obey 
The  eternal  harmonies  that  poets  sing, 
And  that  to  raise  up  beauty  over  war 
Is  all  ye  come  to  earth  from  heaven  for. 


[36] 


POEMS  OF  THE  TIMES 


The  Ships 

WHAT  heart  of  man  did  never  glow 
To  see  the  great  ships  come  and  go, 
Or  feel  what  miracles  are  these 
Upon  the  highway  of  the  seas. 
Whenever  I  go  to  the  harbor  shore 
The  wonder  holds  me  more  and  more 
Until  my  spirit  yearns  to  cry 
Out  to  the  vessels  drifting  by : 
' '  Bold  breasters  of  the  wind  and  tide, 
On  what  far  errands  do  you  ride  ? 
Your  funnels  fume  and  your  engines  strain 
To  speed  you  over  the  tided  main, 
And  all  the  harbor  is  gay  and  bright 
Where  your  colors  fly  and  the  waves  curl  white 
From  many  a  sturdy-cleaving  keel, 
But  do  you  ride  for  woe  or  weal  ? 
And  when  the  weary  course  is  done, 
What  good  for  human  kind  is  won?" 
And  the  stately  vessels  drifting  by 
Seem  thus  to  deign  a  prompt  reply : 
"We  herald  the  fate  of  human  souls 
By  a  thousand  ways  to  a  thousand  goals, 

[37] 


THE  WINGS  OF  OPPRESSION 

And  set  at  naught  wind,  tide  and  weather 

To  bring  the  tribes  of  the  earth  together. 

Whether  the  skies  are  gray  or  blue 

We  plough  the  mounting  billows  through, 

Lest  we  should  seem  to  give  suspense 

To  the  mighty  plan  of  Providence. 

For  God  has  said  His  people  all 

Are  one,  and  they  shall  hear  the  call 

Each  of  the  other,  and  each  shall  speed 

In  His  good  time  to  the  other's  need. 

And  they  shall  come  from  northern  snows, 

From  the  torrid  isle  where  the  monsoon  blows, 

From  the  farthest  plains  and  mountain  tips, 

And  all  go  down  to  the  sea  in  ships. 

And  none  shall  have  a  gift  or  skill, 

Or  any  power  of  mind  or  will, 

Or  any  good  the  hand  hath  wrought, 

Or  any  luring  dream  or  thought 

Of  truth  or  beauty  yet  to  be 

The  graces  of  humanity, 

But  we  must  bear  it  safe  and  fast, 

Or  flash  it  out  from  the  top  of  the  mast 

Upon  the  pulses  of  the  air 

To  all  the  people  everywhere. 

We  carry  the  tares  with  the  wholesome  grain, 

And  the  joy  we  bear  is  born  of  pain, 

And  death  is  with  us  and  disease, 

[38] 


POEMS  OF  THE  TIMES 

And  we  must  fare  through  crimsoned  seas 
Till  men  of  every  land  and  race 
Shall  know  each  other  face  to  face, 
And  all  shall  take  and  all  shall  give, 
And  all  shall  learn  at  last  to  live 
And  labor  for  the  sovereign  good 
Of  universal  brotherhood. ' ' 


[39] 


THE  WINGS  OF  OPPRESSION 


Ode  to  Patriotism 

FAIR  goddess,  though  thy  devotees 
Are  men  of  every  land  and  tongue, 
Thy  heart  they  never  yet  could  please; 
And  though  thy  majesty  is  sung 
By  statesman,  warrior  and  bard, 
Still  on  thy  brow  a  stern  regard 
Proves  thy  disdain,  and  quickening  their  fears, 
Brings  them  before  thy  fane  in  bitterness  and 
tears. 

As  when  a  suitor,  plighting  all 

His  troth  unto  some  high-souled  maid, 

Makes  protestations  prodigal, 

But  finds  her  loftily  afraid, 

And  still  reluctant  to  aver 

Like  passion,  till  that  love  of  her 

Enters  the  temple  of  her  purer  mind 

As  homage  less  for  one  than  for  all  womankind — 

So,  holier  mistress,  hast  thou  shown 
Why  still  we  fall  on  horrid  days, 
Why  our  best  hopes  are  overthrown 

[40] 


POEMS  OF  THE  TIMES 

In  spite  of  all  our  prayer  and  praise ; 

For  thou  wouldst  have  our  love  expand 

Beyond  mere  race  or  bounded  land, 

And  thou  wouldst  test  our  proffered  troth  to  thee 

By  what  we  deeply  crave  for  all  humanity  . 

Build  up  again  our  broken  faith, 

Fair  deity;  unloose  the  gyves 

Of  hate ;  allay  the  gruesome  wraith 

Of  murderous  war ;  and  lead  our  lives 

Back  to  the  peace  that  springs  of  love 

For  man  as  man,  and  mounts  above 

Land,  caste,  or  creed !  0  teach  our  wrathful  time 

That  brotherhood  is  still  man's  destiny  sublime. 


THE  WINGS  OF  OPPRESSION 


The  Launching  of  the  Quistconk 

WE  launch  more  than  a  ship  today. 
Down  her  smooth  ways  unto  the  tide 
She  bears  in  every  seam  and  stay 
A  mighty  nation's  marshalled  pride. 
Before  her  stern,  majestic  hulk 
Our  distant  higher  vision  sees 
Crime,  frightfulness  and  treason  skulk 
To  certain  doom  on  humbled  knees. 
We  launch  more  than  a  ship  today: 
We  hear  more  than  our  chieftain's  word. 
The  earth,  the  air,  the  watery  way 
Are  thronged  with  millions  who  are  stirred 
To  will  that  this  good  ship  shall  be, 
With  all  her  strength  and  treasure  store, 
And  all  her  Christian  chivalry, 
The  herald  of  a  thousand  more. 
And  these  shall  follow  in  her  wake 
In  ever  quickening  degrees, 
Until  the  endless  line  shall  make 
That  bridge  of  ships  across  the  seas, 
At  whose  far  end  the  hosts  of  God 


POEMS  OF  THE  TIMES 

Shall  stand  with  all  the  power  of  earth, 
To  raise  up  justice  from  the  sod 
And  give  to  freedom  her  new  birth. 


[43] 


THE  WINGS  OF  OPPRESSION 


The  Heart  of  the  World 

THE  men  of  war  and  the  men  of  state 
Grope  in  the  sloughs  of  blood  and  hate, 
The  great  guns  range  upon  the  seas, 
But  the  heart  of  the  world  is  not  in  these. 
The  weary  chronicles  still  tell 
How  tyranny  and  tyrant  fell, 
But  the  heart  of  the  world,  0  Lord,  how  far 
From  captain,  kaiser,  king  or  czar ! 
The  empty  pomp  of  force  and  pride 
Has  lived  its  brutal  day  and  died, 
And  all  the  gods  of  arrogance 
Have  fled  before  the  winds  of  chance, 
While  time  and  fate  conspire  to  plan 
A  highway  for  the  rights  of  man. 
And  now  where  toilers  feel  the  sting 
Of  utter  need  and  suffering, 
Where  men  are  tortured  from  belief, 
And  women  manacled  to  grief, 
AVhere  childhood  walks  in  wild  despair, 
The  heart  of  all  the  world  is  there. 


[44] 


POEMS  OF  THE  TIMES 


Clemenceau 


HE  rode  on  tempests  through  a  span  of 
years 

That  bridged  two  generations.  Round  his  name 
Blew  all  the  fitful  winds  of  praise  and  blame : 
France   heaped   011   him   her  plaudits   and  her 

sneers. 

And  he  was  not  deceived — he  had  his  fears — 
But  kept  his  patriot  zeal  bright  as  a  flame; 
And  when  upon  his  land  the  fire  storms  came, 
France  gave  him  all  her  trust  with  grateful  tears. 
So  when  the  crazed  assassin  failed,  we  said : 
''May  the  kind  will  of  God  preserve  him  yet. 
Far  nobler  men  may  rise  when  he  is  dead, 
But  this  of  him  mankind  will  not  forget- 
When  earth  shook  with  the  tramping  hordes  of 

hell, 
He  stood  across  their  path,  and  held  it  well. ' ' 


[45] 


THE  WINGS  OF  OPPRESSION 


The  Founder 

To  THE  STATUE  OF  WlLLIAM  PENN,  ClTY  HALL, 

PHILADELPHIA,   WHEN    PEACE   WAS   PROCLAIMED, 
NOVEMBER  11,  1918. 


SWIFTER  than  wind  the    mighty    message 
came 

That  tyranny  had  fallen,  that  the  crime 
By  which  the  great  high  traitor  of  our  time 
Had  fixed  upon  his  race  the  foulest  fame, 
And  covered  the  whole  earth  with  dread  and 

shame 

And  all  the  spawn  of  hell 's  own  murk  and  grime, 
Was  purged  away  at  last  by  that  sublime 
Wrath  of  the  world  that  rose  in  freedom 's  name. 
Then  long-leashed  passion  broke  upon  the  air 
And  shook  the  city— cries  of  joy  and  grief, 
Wild,  clamorous  thanksgiving  everywhere 
That  God  had  brought  mankind  again  relief, 
And  never  was  a  people  known  to  be 
So  caught  away  in  utter  ecstacy  . 

[46] 


POEMS  OF  THE  TIMES 


Then  lifted  I  mine  eyes  to  where  thy  face, 
Turned  from  the  lurid  night  where  king  and 

throne 

Were  sinking  with  the  sun,  looked  forth  alone 
Steadfastly  to  the  dawn.    Around  thy  base 
The  tumult  swept,  but  in  that  lofty  place 
Thy  form  without  a  motion  or  a  tone, 
Stood  like  a  prophet  who  had  long  outgrown 
The  fleeting  passions  of  the  human  race. 
Arid  one  calm  hand  extended  seemed  to  say, 
' '  Through  travail  of  the  ages,  blood  and  pain, 
Freedom  indeed  is  born  anew  today ; 
0  build  ye  now  the  bulwarks  of  her  reign, 
Nor  dare  to  dream  the  shouting  triumph  won 
Can  }ret  avail  until  her  work  is  done." 


[47] 


THE  WINGS  OF  OPPRESSION 


To  All  Leaders  of  Men 

THREE  things  there  are  that  men  will  do 
Leaders  of  men,  beware ! 
Your  calling  and  election  true 
Will  shine,  if  they  have  faith  that  you 
Their  stubborn  purpose  share. 

Men  ivill  see  men  as  only  men, 

0  masters,  take  ye  heed ! 

No  one  shall  hold  the  rights  of  ten, 

No  mortal  be  divine  again 

No  counsel,  pact,  or  creed. 

Men  will  be  bold  to  follow  thought. 
0  captains,  ye  shall  find 
The  peoples  of  the  earth  distraught 
By  being  merely  led  and  taught, 
But  now  they  have  a  mind. 

And  men  will  share  the  wealth  they  make — 

To  this  of  all  attend. 

The  worker  for  the  worker's  sake 

Will  prove  his  power  to  give  and  take, 

That  ancient  greed  may  end. 

[48] 


POEMS  OF  THE  TIMES 

Go  not  to  wordy  halls  of  state, 

Ye  wise  that  can  discern 

This  threefold  tidal  pull  of  fate 

That  rocks  the  world — too  late,  too  late 

The  statesmen  stoop  to  learn. 

But  through  the  ways  where  labor  stalks 
Portentous  with  its  load, 
The  soul  of  God's  great  future  talks, 
The  genius  of  His  purpose  walks, 
And  there  must  be  your  road. 


[49] 


Brixton  Prison 

A  TRIBUTE  TO  LORD  MAYOR  MACSWINEY  OF 
CORK  WHO  DIED  ON  A  HUNGER  STRIKE  FOR  THE 
CAUSE  OF  IRISH  FREEDOM. 

THE  guard  about  thy  somber  walls 
May  keep  a  martyr's  limbs  confined, 
But  not  the  dauntless  soul  that  calls 
The  challenged  conscience  of  mankind. 

MacSwiney,  wasting  in  the  dark 
Forespent  of  all  his  manly  use, 
Transforms  a  life  into  the  spark 
That  set  the  fires  of  freedom  loose. 

He  would  not  bend  before  the  rude 
Attempt  to  make  his  life  a  lie; 
He  scorned  to  taste  oppression's  food; 
He  chose  to  be  a  man  and  die. 

0  Brixton  prison,  surely  thou 
Art  raised  above  thy  base  design : 
Thy  terrors  all  are  gone,  and  now 
Thou  hast  become  a  nation's  shrine. 

[So] 


POEMS  OF  THE  TIMES 

And  thou,  lord  mayor !    Now  thy  rule 
Far  out  from  mourning  Cork  expands 
Thy  spirit  has  become  a  school 
For  patriot  heroes  in  all  lands. 


[50 


POEMS  OF  APPRECIATION 


POEMS  OF  APPRECIATION 


Lines  Written  in  the  Alps  Above 
Chamounix 

HERE  had  one  voice  almost  persuaded  me 
To  yield  with  sweet  surrender  all  my  heart 
In  fee  to  endless  beauty,  here  to  bide 
And  count  as  nothing  worth  the  flight  of  days. 
Nor  could  I  break  at  will  the  subtle  spell 
That  held  me,  as  it  hath  held  many  more, 
With  power  that  was  more  than  argument. 

Forbear  attempt  at  vain  expression  here ! 
Poet  and  painter  both  alike  despair: 
A  surfeit  of  all  grandeur  overwhelms 
The  boldest  gift,  and  dwarfs  imagining. 
Here  silence,  and  unutterable  thought, 
And  the  blest  gift  of  feeling  must  suffice. 

No  monarch  could  be  raised  to  higher  state 
Than  you  or  yonder  careless  shepherd  girl 
That  minds  the  grazing  of  the  tinkling  kine. 
Your  meanest  seat  is  heather  royal-hued 
Girdled  with  nodding  berries  black  and  red, 
And  flaming  poppies  sated  with  the  sun, 

[55] 


Your  carpet  satin  green,  your  body-guard 
Soft  winds  that  blow  a  cooling  for  your  brow 
To  mock  fan-bearers  at  the  Sultan's  throne. 
Dear  music  shall  not  fail  you:  evermore 
Upon  your  ear  shall  sound  the  clear  flute  note 
Of  dripping  water,  or  the  happier  tone 
Of  slender  streams  that  leap  from  bolder  walls 
Singing  of  freedom  from  the  tyrant  ice. 
Or,  nobler  still,  up  from  the  vale  shall  rise 
The  river  music  of  assembled  streams 
In  symphonies  of  service  to  the  world. 

Look  down  upon  that  valley :    there  behold 
Sweet  homes  with  human  kindness  heaven-dow 
ered. 
Those  husbandmen  have  not  yet  pawned  their 

souls 

For  bagatelles  of  profit,  young  men  there 
Are  not  yet  sickly,  and  the  rosy  dames 
Bear  children  that  go  springing  to  the  fields. 
They  make  their  valley  plain  lie  in  the  sun 
Like  some  rich  quilting  wonderfully  wrought 
In  squares  and  angles  of  productiveness. 

Nor  is  the  blessed  Christ  there  travestied 
By  sterile  worship  lavish  of  all  forms 
And  ceremonies,  while  its  devotees 

[56] 


Dishonor  still  a  long-offended  God 
By  lofty  scorn  of  all  his  humbler  sons. 
Those  reverent  men  give  fearless  benison 
To  Mongol,  Semite,  African  or  Turk: 
They  plant  their  crucifixes  by  the  road, 
Or  rear  their  cherished  shrines  upon  the  rocks 
As  precious  tokens  and  remembrancers 
To  all  men  of  the  Universal  Cross. 

For  proof  of  God's  unfettered  pleasure  here, 

Look  up  about  those  summits  where  he  pours 

The  light  of  morning  round  the  monstrous  ice, 

Round  frosted"  peaks,  and  hanging  frigid  plains, 

Until  they  shower  down  a  shining  joy 

Upon  thy  lifted  head,  fill  full  thy  soul 

With  gladness  that  transfigures  all  the  vale, 

And  make  the  terrible  a  thing  to  love. 

The  white  refulgence  of  those  argent  snows 

Shall  follow  thee  throughout  the  happy  day 

With  images  of  purity  and  peace, 

And  nevermore  shalt  thou  be  what  thou  wert. 

Or,  if  at  noon  thy  heart  be  prone  to  droop 

For  sheer  satiety  of  loveliness, 

Or  beauty  fail  of    strength,    up    through    some 

cloud 
Soft  as  etheral  eider-down  will  rise 

[57] 


THE  WINGS  OF  OPPRESSION 

The  nakedness  of  brazen  granite  towers 
That  were  the  pillars  of  the  primal  world ; 
Eons  of  fury  have  they  set  at  naught, 
And  all  the  gnawing  of  the  tooth  of  time : 
And  these  at  noon  shall  be  thy  ministers 
When    they    hold    up    to    God    their    gleaming 

crowns, 
And  call  thy  human  weakness  back  to  strength. 

And  0,  when  downward  rides  the  lordly  sun 
Behind  those  summits,  richer  guerdons  wait 
To  hearten  him  who  lingers  to  behold. 
Then  the  flushed  earth  strains  up  her  jeweled 

head 

Towards  the  red  passion  of  the  bending  skies ; 
Then  the  bright  trees,  the  high  green  fields,  the 

crags 

That  pierce  the  clouds  with  menace,  and  the  ice 
That  shines  upon  them,  all  are  built  away 
In  steep  sierras  like  some  glorious  stair 
For  angels  mounting  towards  the  face  of  God. 

And  when  at  last  the  night  has  brought  theej 

sleep, 

Thy  couch  shall  be  companioned  by  some  dream 
Of  what  thine  eyes  have  seen  and  thy  heart  felt; 
And  though  the  thought  of  never  waking  more 
Steal  o'er  thy  frame,  thou  shalt  be  satisfied. 

[58] 


POEMS  OF  APPRECIATION 


To  the  Smartweecl 

1 

THOU  art  far  more  to  me  than  blight  and 
bane 

Alone,  as  rustics  deem,  who  thus  deny 
Thy  regal  will  and  martial  quality. 

Often  have  I  beheld  the  angered  swain 

Charge  through  thy  ranks  with  horse  and  steel 

in  vain, 

And  often  have  I  seen  the  children  try 
With  gleaming  blade  to  make  thy  banners  fly 
Till  every  scion  of  thy  stock  was  slain. 
But  when  the  havoc  tarried  I  have  seen 
Thy  striplings  spring  again  to  take  the  field, 
Choke  the  strong  tuber,  rout  the  bean  forlorn, 
Shade  every  valued  plant  with  insolent  green, 
Constrain  the  earth  to  their  prolific  yield, 
And  wave  their  purpling  tops  above  the  corn. 

2 

With  plow  and  chain  I  saw  the  husbandman 
Tear  up  thy  roots  to  wither  in  the  heat, 

[59] 


THE  WINGS  OF  OPPRESSION 

And  drag  thy  foliage  down  to  make  a  seat 
For  the  brown  odorous  furrow-crest  that  ran 
Across  the  mead  where  thy  career  began : 
But  every  blade  and  stalk  that  met  defeat 
Rose  up  transfigured  into  sheaves  of  wheat, 
And  wrought  a  conquest  by  a  subtler  plan. 
Ah,  then  I  knew  that  he  is  more  than  blind 
And  dim  of  thought  who  cannot  surely  see 
In  thee  the  symbol  of  a  world  of  men 
Swept  down  to  darkness  by  the  torrid  wind 
Blown  from  the  caves  of  fate  eternally, 
In  whom  posterity  will  rise  again. 


[60] 


POEMS  OF  APPRECIATION 


To  William  James 

DEVOTEDLY  he  watched  the  silent  stream 
Of  consciousness,   and  from  the  shifting 

brink, 

In  lucid  phrase,  taught  thousands  how  to  think. 
No   straightened   logic's   thrall,    he    prized    the 

gleam 

Of  truth  in  all  experience :  the  dream 
To  him  was  precious  too.    He  dared  to  link 
Reality  with  wonder,  and  to  sink 
The  plumb  of  thought  down  where  all  mysteries 

teem. 

Where  is  the  light  we  knew  upon  his  face — 
The  zest  for  knowledge,  searching  and  intense  ? 
Gone  out  for  aye  in  darkness  deep  and  strange  ? 
Or  do  they  now  at  last  find  scope  and  place 
Where  Thales  still  propounds  the  elements, 
And  Heraclitus  broods,  " 'Tis  only  Change?" 


[61] 


To  Mrs.  Jane  B.  Taylor 

SHALL  I  compare  thee  to  the  winter  snow? 
So  spotless  is  thy  heart,  but  never  cold: 
What  though  thy  locks  be  changed  from  sunny 

gold 

To  silver,  still  that  perfect  brow  doth  glow 
With  human  interest,  still  thou  sayest,  "Go 
Straight  forward,  trust  the  dream,  be  strong, 

and  hold 

The  faith  that  love,  with  all  its  griefs  untold, 
Is  better  than  the  fairest  thing  we  know." 

So  when  the  winter  of  my  days  shall  fall, 
And  snow  lies  white  upon  the  barren  ground 
Where  I  have  wandered  long,  and  learned  the 

truth 

Of  life,  and  drunk  the  wormwood  and  the  gall, 
O  let  my  bosom,  full  of  years,  be  found 
Still  bearing  the  immortal  heart  of  youth. 


POEMS  OF  APPRECIATION 


Two  Women 

JUST  as  my  wonted  task  was  done 
And  day  was  fast  declining, 
Two  women  passed,  the  low  red  sun 
Upon  their  faces  shining. 

Their  ample  cloaks  were  gathered  warm 
Against  the  winter  weather; 
Their  -heads  were  bare,  and  arm  in  arm 
They  crossed  the  lawn  together. 

They  seemed  two  spirits  to  inspire 
Even  a  mortal  craven, 
For  one  had  hair  like  a  flame  of  fire, 
And  one  like  the  wing  of  a  raven. 

With  springy  step,  they  passed  along 
In  joyous,  bright  communing, 
And  in  my  heart  there  came  a  song 
I  found  delight  in  crooning. 

Come  forth,  0  masters,  if  yau  may, 
And  choose,  if  you  are  able, 
The  golden  brightness  of  the  day, 
Or  the  deep,  deep  night  in  sable. 


THE  WINGS  OF  OPPRESSION 


The  Actress 

THINK  not  her  days  are  but  an  idle  show 
Of  artificial  manners,  speech  and  dress, 
Or  that  her  meed  of  honor  should  be  less 
Because  her  heart  lives  where  the  footlights 

glow 

Upon  the  garish  scene,  with  weal  and  woe 
Of  mimic  passion.    Let  the  happiness 
Of  her  brief  hour  be  full :  that  bright  success 
Is  purchased  far  more  dearly  than  we  know. 
Pity,  the  wrapt  spectators  little  sense 
Her  nobler  grace !    To  "hold  the  mirror  up," 
And  thereby  win  the  favor  of  our  eyes 
Were  well ;  but  what  applause  can  recommense 
The  tempered  soul  that  drains  the  bitter  cup 
Of  a  continual  self-sacrifice ! 


[64] 


POEMS  OF  APPRECIATION 


The  Piano-Player 

DISTRAUGHT  with    care,    I    said,    "Here 
shall  be  found 

A  solace  for  great  losses.    Long  ago, 
One  gentle  soul  could  lure  away  my  woe 
Upon  Beethoven's  music;  for  he  crowned 
A  world  of  sorrow  with  a  heaven  of  sound. 
Thanks  to  the  genius  that  has  willed  it  so 
Those  deathless  harmonies  again  may  flow 
From  out  this  perforated  scroll  unwound." 
Then  wondrous  came  the  swelling  chords,  and 

sweet 

The  troubled  minor  strain ;  but  0  how  changed 
From  the  dear  tones  that  brought  my  younger 

heart 

A  chastened  wealth  of  happiness  complete, 
When    o'er    the    board    her    perfect    fingers 

ranged 
With   such   expressive   grace   that   tears   would 

start! 


[65] 


THE  WINGS  OF  OPPRESSION 


Prevision 

FROM  THE  PORTUGESE  OF  ALBERTO  DE  OLIVEIRA 

I  KNEW  thy  smile  was  but  a  passing  spell, 
And  yet  I  loved  it — 0  I  loved  it  well. 
I  loved  the  radiant  meaning  of  thine  eyes, 
Knowing  that  they  would  fail  me,  and  likewise, 
Though  breathed  upon  the    wind,    I    had    no 

choice 

But  still  to  love  the  passion  of  thy  voice. 
Now  all  has  vanished — all  is  ended  now — 
Enchanted  voice,  enamored  glance.    In  vain 
I  knew  it  would  be  so,  and  know  not  how 
It  can  avail  me  now  if  I  complain. 


[66] 


POEMS  OF  APPRECIATION 


To  a  Nobly-Gifted  Singer 

ALL  the  pleasanee  of  her  face 
Telleth  of  an  inward  grace; 
In  her  dark  eyes  I  have  seen 
Sorrows  of  the  Nazarene ; 
In  the  proud  and  perfect  mould 
Of  her  body  I  behold, 
Rounded  in  a  single  view 
The  good,  the  beautiful,  the  true ; 
And  when  her  spirit  goes  up-winging 
On  sweet  air  of  artless  singing 
Surely  the  heavenly  spheres  rejoice 
In  union  with  a  kindred  voice. 


[67] 


THE  WINGS  OF  OPPRESSION 


Katerina  Breshkovskaya 

IIOU  shalt  die  in  the  midst  of  thy  battles, ' ' 
They  said  of  this  mother  of  thought, 

When  she  bared  to  her  countrymen,  bared  to 

the  world, 
The  evil  a  tyrant  had  wrought. 

But  the  tyrant  was  strong,  and  his  minions, 

And  they  harried  her  out  of  the  land, 

To  the  blight  and  the     death     of    the    frozen 

steppes, 
And  the  word  she  had  uttered  was  banned. 

But  that  word  was  a  fire,  and  prospered, 
And  her  thought  was  a  wind  and  a  rain, 
And  it  beat  on  the  palace  that  stood  on  the 

sand, 
And  it  fell,  and  the  tyrant  was  slain. 

0  who  would  not  fall  in  such  battles, 

What  death  could  a  mortal  prefer, 

In  the  world-girding  fight  for  honor  and  right, 

To  the  glory  of  dj'ing  like  her! 

[68] 


Christmas  at  Melrose 

COME  home  with  me  a  little  space 
And  browse  about  our  ancient  place, 
Lay  by  your  wonted  troubles  here 
And  have  a  turn  of  Christmas  cheer. 
These  sober  walls  of  weathered  stone 
Can  tell  a  romance  of  their  own, 
And  these  wide  rooms  of  devious  line 
Are  kindly  meant  in  their  design. 
Sometimes  the  north  wind  searches  through, 
But  he  shall  not  be  rude  to  you. 
We'll  light  a  log  of  generous  girth 
For  winter  comfort,  and  the  mirth 
Of  healthy  children  you  shall  see 
About  a  sparkling  Christmas  tree. 
Eleanor,  leader  of  the  fold, 
Hermione  with  heart  of  gold, 
Elaine  with  comprehending  eyes, 
And  two  more  yet  of  coddling  size, 
Nathalie  pondering  all  that's  said, 
And  Mary  of  the  cherub  head- 
All  these  shall  give  you  sweet  content 
And  care-destroying  merriment, 

[69] 


While  one  with  true  madonna  grace 
Moves  round  the  glowing  fire-place 
Where  father  loves  to  muse  aside 
And  grandma  sits  in  silent  pride. 
And  you  may  chafe  the  wasting  oak, 
Or  freely  pass  the  kindly  joke 
To  mix  with  nuts  and  home-made  cake 
And  apples  set  on  coals  to  bake. 
Or  some  fine  carol  we  will  sing 
In  honor  of  the  Manger-King, 
Or  hear  great  Milton's  organ  verse, 
Or  Plato's  dialogue  rehearse 
What  Socrates  with  his  last  breath 
Sublimely  said  of  life  and  death. 
These  dear  delights  we  fain  would  share 
With  friend  and  kinsman  everywhere, 
And  from  our  door  see  them  depart 
Each  with  a  little  lighter  heart. 


[70] 


POEMS  OF  APPRECIATION 


The  Metropolitan  Tower 

LOOK  down  securely  from  thy  dizzy  height, 
0  soaring  tower,  upon  the  little  street 
Where  men  below  like  termites  seem  to  crawl 
In  insignificance.    Thou  couldst  not  fear 
Comparison  with   any  mighty  pile 
From  Babel  or  the  pyramids  till  now. 
The  clamor  .and  confusion  round  thy  base 
Shall  never  vex  thy  summit :  there  the  sun 
Shall  sit  while  twilight  gathers  at  thy  feet. 
Thy  shoulders  mock  the  straining  of  the  storms, 
And  if  the  earth  be  loyal  to  her  trust, 
Old  time  shall  waste  his  tooth  in  wasting  thee. 
Thou  art  as  wonderful  to  me  as  Blanc 
Or  Fiji  Yama  or  Niagara — 
These  are  the  work  of  God,  but  thou  of  Man. 
It  is  thy  privilege  to  symbolize 
In  giant  form  the  saving  truth  of  art— 
That  beauty's  handmaid  is  utility, 
And  strength  their  bond  of  love. 


THE  WINGS  OF  OPPRESSION 


A  City  Park 

THE  travail  of  the  world  roars  like  the  sea 
Throughout  the  city-traffic,  strife  and  haste, 
And  all  the  petty  trade  wherein  men  waste 
The  noblest  graces  of  humanity. 
The  sounding  streets  are  thronged  incessantly 
AYith  feverish  hordes  driven  and  overpaced 
By  the  sharp  whips  of  need,  with  little  taste 
Or  time  for  that  which  life  was  meant  to  be. 

But  here  is  hope — here  is  a  rescued  spot, 
Where  beauty  waits  in  fountain,  grass  and  flow 
er, 
Where  children  play,  and  men  turn  from  the 

hot, 

Mad  mill  of  labor  for  a  quiet  hour 
To  feel  the  cooling  wash  of  the  summer  breeze, 
And  glimpse  the  calm  of  heaven  through  the 
trees. 


POEMS  OP  APPRECIATION 


The  Symphony 

I  THINK  there  scarcely  can  be  given 
Nobler  harmonies  in  heaven ; 
Seraph  harps  and  voices  swelling 
Could  not  be  more  heart-compelling ; 
For  these  instruments  have  found 
All  the  ministries  of  sound, 
And  their  shriving  tones  have  won  me 
Far  more  good  than  priests  have  done  me. 
What-  troublous  passion-stirring  conies 
Upon  the  thunder-rolling  drums ! 
What  weakness  could  withstand  the  scorns 
Blown  by  the  bold  courageous  horns ! 
What  grace  is  that  the  spirit  needs 
Uncompassed  by  the  lowly  reeds, 
And  who  could  keep  a  truce  with  sins 
That  heard  the  pleading  violins ! 
Oh,  I  was  weary  when  I  came 
To  listen,  for  the  sham  and  shame 
And  poverty  of  mortal  fare 
Are  heavy  weights  for  souls  to  bear. 
But,  when  I  left,  a  flame  of  light 
Went  with  me  through  the  solemn  night, 

[73] 


THE  WINGS  OF  OPPRESSION 

I  walked  in  splendor  in  a  place 

Large  as  illimitable  space, 

Peace  through  the  mists  of  doubting  smiled, 

And  life  and  death  were  reconciled. 


[74] 


POEMS  OF  APPRECIATION 


The   Borglum   Statue   of   Lincoln   in   the 
Court  House  Square,  Newark,  N.  J. 

I     THINK  there  is  no  other  monument 
Raised  up  to  merit  out  of  brass  or  stone 
So  beautiful  as  this :  it  stands  alone, 
Outreaching  far  the  artist's  first  intent, 
By  grace  of  one  sweet  human  incident  . 
Round  all  the  high,  horsed  heroes  I  have  known 
An  undisturbed  indifference  has  grown, 
Which  neither  time  nor  wonder  can  prevent. 
But  he  is  on  the  ground,  and  children  play 
Upon  his  knees,  and  stroke  the  earnest  face 
That  shines  with  their  caresses,  and  all  day 
He  is  their  comfort  in  the  public  place : 
The  rigid  bronze  itself  cannot  conceal 
That  sheltering  heart  which  little  children  feel. 


[75] 


She  Will  Come 

AFTER  a  tedious  day 
Of  unavailing  toil, 
Weary  of  heart  and  brain, 
Disconsolate  and  faint, 
I  seek  my  friendly  couch 
For  respite  and  release, 
Repeating  as  I  go 
"Tomorrow  she  will  come." 

The  darkness  and  the  deep, 
Cool  silence  of  the  night 
Enwrap  me,  and  I  dream. 

Then  in  a  happy  place 

Upon  a  far  green  hill 

The  sunlight  shines  again. 

There  the  warm  winds  distil 

From  hyacinth  and  rose 

Their  sweet  quintessences 

To  be  the  breath  of  life, 

There  singing  streams  flow  down 

From  fountains  crystalline, 

[76] 


POEMS  OF  APPRECIATION 

And  on  their  mossy  banks 
The  Nereids  and  fauns 
Dance  to  the  reeds  of  Pan 
In  glad  abandonment. 
There  the  lithe  Oreads 
Ply  every  game  and  sport 
In  honor  of  the  trees, 
And  jocund  forests  shake 
Their  ancient  sides  in  mirth. 
Color  and  light  and  shade, 
And  all  dear  harmonies 
Of  poesy  and  truth 
And  fellowship  are  there. 
There  the  great  boon  of  health 
And  innocent  content 
Lead  on  the  grateful  hours, 
And  every  heart  is  free, 
And  pain  arid  aching  thought, 
And  tedium  and  care 
Are  alien  enemies. 
And  when  the  sun  retires 
Behind  the  arras  drawn 
Across  the  stage  of  day, 
The  night  begins  a  new 
Succession  of  delights 
With  moon,  and  golden  stars, 
And  blessed  memories 

[77] 


Of  music  that  has  ceased, 
And  a  wide  heaven  of  dreams. 

Then  I  awake  and  say, 
''This  is  the  day  she  comes." 


[78] 


POEMS  OF  APPRECIATION 


Spring 

SWEET  are  the  maiden  promises  of  spring, 
Her  voice  comes  wandering  like  some  mut 
ed  tone 

From  far-off  symphonies,  and  everything 
She  wears  is  but  a  veiling  lightly  thrown 
Around  the  form  of  beauty.    She  will  seem 
Demurely  chaste  and  reticent  awhile, 
But  in  her  eyes  is  youth's  eternal  dream  , 
And  all  the  light  of  passion  in  her  smile. 
When  the  bold  sun,  her  lover,  argues  down 
Her  shy  reserves,  then  will  her  lips  confess 
Her  timorous  deep  desire,  and  she  will  crown 
Pier  fealty  with  wondrous  fruitfulness. 
And  when  her  time  is  done,  the  earth  will  praise 
Her  blithe  and  rosy  breed  of  summer  days. 


[79] 


THE  WINGS  OF  OPPRESSION 


The  Dogwood 

JT  is  a  rare  delight  to  see^ 
The  snow-bloom  of  the  dogwood  tree 
All  virginal  against  the  sheen 
Of  April 's  early  budding  green. 
When  violet  and  buttercup 
Their  timid  heads  are  lifting  up, 
When  dandelions  fringe  the  pass 
And  dews  have  gemmed  the  tender  grass, 
He  opens  to  the  morning  light 
His  fragrant  chalices  of  white. 
He  cannot  stay :  he  comes  to  show 
That  spring  intends  the  heart  shall  know 
Yet  once  again  the  primal  worth 
Of  all  the  loveliness  of  earth — 
The  cordial  sky,  the  thought  of  flowers, 
Of  friendly  trees  and  singing  bowers, 
The  angel  spirits  all  the  day 
Around  us  where  the  children  play, 
Fair  fields  of  grain  that  promise  soon 
Their  cornucopias  of  June, 
And  sweet  romance  that  never  fails 
Of  lovers  and  of  bridal  veils. 

[80] 


POEMS  OF  APPRECIATION 

A  little  term  of  shade  and  sun, 

And  all  his  ministry  is  done. 

A  fitting  symbol  seemeth  he 

Of  all  our  fair  mortality : 

So  youth  departs ;  so  not  for  long 

Abides  the  ecstacy  of  song ; 

So  brief  are  all  the  splendors  laid 

About  the  dawn ;  so  faces  fade  ; 

So  dies  the  moonlight  on  a  stream ; 

And  so  is  life  a  little  dream. 


[81] 


THE  WINGS  OF  OPPRESSION 


May  Again 

AGAIN  the  southern  winds  at  ease 
Caress  the  blossom-laden  trees, 
"While  o'er  the  heavens  gay 
Is  writ  in  gold  and  hues  of  wine 
A  brig"htly  blazoned  script  divine — 
May  comes  again,  sweet  May. 

Again  what  glories  wake  the  dawn, 

And  how  old  warrior  trouble,  wan 

And  weak,  is  driven  out ; 

With  what  clear  throats  the  sparrowrs  sing, 

How  musical  the  drone  bee's  wing, 

And  how  the  children  shout ! 

Four  walls  are  all  too  narrow  now — 
I  follow  where  the  sturdy  plow 
Has  turned  the  fragrant  mead, 
Where  growing  green  things  rise  in  line 
Like  soldiers,  or  where  soft-eyed  kine 
On  new-spring  grasses  feed. 

[82] 


POEMS  OF  APPRECIATION 

But  sweeter  than  all  nature  rife 

With  song  and  bloom  that  zest  of  life 

Which  fills  the  spirit  up 

With  joy  new-born  of  homely  food 

And  peace  that  whispers  "God  is  good," 

And  overruns  my  cup. 

0  what  of  the  dreams  that  faded  fast, 

Or  the  fickle  "gleam"  that  glanced  and  passed, 
Or  the  wine  that  turned  to  rue. 

1  hold  a  wand,  as  May  can  vow, 
With  magic  healing,  and  somehow 
The  heavens  and  earth  are  new. 

In  coat  of  hope-and-courage  clad, 
I  am  a  bold  Sir  Galahad, 
On  quests  that  cannot  fail, 
For  with  clear  vision  now  I  see 
That  one  who  daily  walks  with  me 
Holds  up  the  holy  Grail. 


[83] 


THE  WINGS  OF  OPPRESSION 


L 'ENVOI 

O  wonder  love,  whose  tender  might 

Through  checkered  years  of  cloud  and  light 

Has  been  both  balm  and  goad, 

Be  thou  my  May  when  winters  chill, 

My  Sarras  set  upon  a  hill, 

The  ending  of  mv  road. 


[84] 


POEMS  OF  APPRECIATION 


Summer  Magic 

SO  many  cares  to  vex  the  day, 
So  many  fears  to  haunt  the  night, 
My  heart  was  all  but  weaned  away 
From  every  lure  of  old  delight. 
Then  summer  came,  announced  by  June, 
With  beauty,  miracle  and  mirth. 
She  hung  aloft  the  rounding  moon, 
She  poured  her  sunshine  on  the  earth, 
She  drove  the  sap  and  broke  the  bud, 
She  set  the  crimson  rose  afire, 
She  stirred  again  my  sullen  blood, 
And  waked  in  me  a  new  desire. 
Before  my  cottage  door  she  spread 
The  softest  carpet  nature  weaves, 
And  deftly  arched  above  my  head 
A  canopy  of  shady  leaves. 
Her  nights  were  dreams  of  jeweled  skies, 
Her  days  were  bowers  rife  with  song, 
And  many  a  scheme  did  she  devise 
To  heal  the  hurt  and  soothe  the  wrong. 
For  on  the  hill  or  in  the  dell, 
Or  where  the  brook  went  leaping  by 

[85] 


Or  where  the  fields  would  surge  and  swell 

With  golden  wheat  or  bearded  rye, 

I  felt  her  heart  against  my  own, 

I  breathed  the  sweetness  of  her  breath, 

Till  all  the  cark  of  time  had  flown, 

And  I  was  lord  of  life  and  death. 


[86] 


POEMS  OF  APPRECIATION 


Sacred  Music  at  Sea 

ARISE,  dear  music  !    O'er  the  rolling  waves 
Let  harmony  abound  in  praise  of  Him 
Whose  mighty  hand  upholds  us,  and  who  saves 
Our  course  from  erring,  though  the  way  be  dim. 

Tell  of  the  warring  waters,  and  the  sky 
That  calms  them  on  the  red  horizon's  rim, 
And  how  the  clouds  are  shepherded  on  high 
By  winds  that  blow  a  tribute  unto  Him. 

Speak,  trombone,  of  the  horrid  ocean  blast, 
Cry,  cornet,  to  the  finny  hordes  that  swim 
Far  down  where  none  can  fathom,  slow  or  fast, 
On  errands  of  sure  service  unto  Him. 

Say,  baritones  and  altoes,  how  the  light 
Of  stars  in  heaven  guides  the  seraphim, 
Till  the  unshadowed  sun  dissolves  the  night 
To  blaze  a  golden  pathway  unto  Him. 

Sound,  drums  and  tubas,  like  a  thunder  storm, 
Scream  clarionets,  like  bold  sea  gulls  that  skim 
The  curling  billow,  on  whose  awful  form 
Their  daily  food  is  offered  up  by  Him. 

[87] 


THE  WINGS  OF  OPPRESSION 

Let  rippling  notes  from  the  small  piccolo 
Be  for  the  compass  tremulous  and  slim, 
But  pointing  through  all  gloom  the  way  we  go 
By  laws  immutably  ordained  of  Him. 

And  let  the  heart  of  every  instrument 
Laud  the  good  ship  that  heeds  not  any  whim 
Of  wind  or  flood,  but  faithful  and  unspent 
Makes  for  the  harbor  built  of  old  by  Him. 

0  rise,  ye  hymns  of  all  the  lands  that  be, 
And  if  for  joy  mine  eyes  shall  overbrim, 
It  is  that  though  we  all  go  down  to  sea 
In  ships  we  cannot  drift  afar  from  Him. 


[88] 


POEMS  OF  APPRECIATION 


Vacation  End 

FROM  the  charm  of  radiant  faces, 
From  the  days  we  took  to  dream, 
From  the  joy  of  open  spaces, 
From  the  mountain  and  the  stream, 
Bronzed  of  sunlight,  nerves  a-tingle, 
Keen  of  limb  and  clear  of  head, 
Speed  we  back  again  to  mingle 
In  the  battle  for  our  bread. 
Now  again  the  stern  commanding 
Of  the  chosen  task  is  heard, 
And  the  tyrant,  care,  is  standing 
Arbiter  of  deed  and  word. 
But  the  radiance  is  not  ended, 
And  the  joy,  whate'er  the  cost, 
Which  those  fleeting  days  attended 
Never  can  be  wholly  lost. 
For  we  bring  to  waiting  duty, 
To  the  labor  and  the  strife, 
Something  of  the  sense  of  beauty, 
And  a  fairer  view  of  life. 


[89] 


THE  WINGS  OF  OPPRESSION 


Boys  Swimming 

THERE  scarcely  is  a  finer  thing  to  see 
Than  lithe  lads  swimming  in  a  running 
stream, 

Cleaving  the  tide  with  breast-stroke  gracefully, 
The  waters  slipping  by  with  wave  and  gleam. 

They  make  delight  of  one  vast  element 
Which  mankind  looked  upon  so  long  with  fear, 
Taught  unawares  to  be  self-confident 
In  venturing  a  hazardous  career. 


[90] 


POEMS  OF  APPRECIATION 


A  Legend  of  the  Easter  Children 

THE  legends  say  children  were  first 
To  be  abroad  that  Easter  day 
When  morning  out  of  darkness  burst, 
And  angels  rolled  the  stone  away. 
For  children's  hearts  are  quick  to  feel 
The  deadening  pall  of  mortal  pain, 
And  children's  hearts  are  first  to  heal 
When  light  and  comfort  come  again. 
And  they  had  loved  the  Lord  Christ's  face, 
And  on  His  knees  had  laughed  and  cried, 
And  heard  Him  say  the  heavenly  place 
Is  where  all  child-like  souls  abide. 
And  they  had  often  heard  Him  tell 
Strong  men,  by  pride  and  greed  defiled, 
That  they  could  never  please  Him  well 
Till  they  were  humble  as  a  child 
And  the}r  had  heard  the  tale  that  grieves 
All  little  hearts:  how  one  so  dear 
Was  nailed  upon  a  cross  with  thieves, 
And  tortured  with  a  poisoned  spear; 
And  how  the  temple's  wondrous  veil 
Was  riven  by  the  lightning  stroke, 

[91] 


THE  WINGS  OF  OPPRESSION 

While,  mingled  with  the  women's  wail, 
The  earthquake  and  the  thunder  broke ; 
And  how  there  came  from  northern  seas 
A  terrified  brigade  of  gulls, 
Swept  on  by  some  unearthly  breeze, 
To  scream  above  the  place  of  skulls; 
And  how  black  night  came  down  at  noon, 
And  ghosts,  from  graves  that  opened  wide, 
Skulked  out  beneath  a  blood-red  moon, 
When  He  that  loved  the  children  died. 

For  two  long  days  no  girl  or  boy 
In  Galilee  or  Jordan  plain 
Could  laugh  or  sing,  for  hope  and  joy 
In  every  little  heart  was  slain. 
But  when  the  earth,  that  third  day  morn, 
Was  flooded  with  such  golden  light 
As  never  since  the  world  was  born 
Had  come  to  dazzle  human  sight, 
Then  every  child,  the  legends  say, 
Knew  that  the  time  was  at  an  end, 
Knew  that  the  stone  was  rolled  away, 
And  flew  to  meet  the  risen  Friend  . 
And  long  before  the  Magdalene 
Had  reached  the  empty  sepulchre, 
Or  Peter  heard  what  she  had  seen, 
Or  fleet  John  hastened  after  her, 


POEMS  OF  APPRECIATION 

The  children  had  gone  forth  and  found 
The  Master  in  the  garden  walk, 
And  scattered  lillies  on  the  ground, 
And  seen  His  smile,  and  heard  Him  talk. 
No  child  was  puny,  halt  or  lame, 
Or  hungry,  or  in  tatters  clad, 
But  clothed  as  if  in  light  they  came, 
And  all  were  whole,  and  strong,  and  glad. 

They  throng  along  the  Kedron  rill, 
They  thread  the  city  through  the  gates 
Straight  up  to  Joseph's  garden  hill, 
Where  He  that  loves  the  children  waits. 
They  sing,  they  dance,  they  climb  the  trees, 
They  circle  round  in  ring  and  file ; 
They  know  they  cannot  fail  to  please, 
And  win  the  guerdon  of  His  smile. 
He  lifts  His  hand  :    "I  bore  the  pain 
Of  death  for  men  by  sin  defiled, 
I  rise  henceforth  to  live  and  reign 
Lord  of  the  kingdom  of  the  Child." 
They  vanish,  and  He  stands  alone ; 
And  when  the  women  come  to  weep, 
The  garden  flames  with  flowers  new-blown-- 
The  children  are  at  home  asleep. 

[93] 


THE  WINGS  OF  OPPRESSION 

1 '  What  makes  that  garden  spot  so  bright ! ' ' 
The  learned  Rabbis  stroked  their  chins ; 
They  knew  not  yet  that  love  is  light, 
That  knowledge  fails  where  love  begins. 
But  somehow  still  on  Easter  morn 
The  world  is  beautiful  again, 
And  in  each  child-like  heart  is  born 
Some  yearning  of  good  will  to  men, 
Some  haunting  sense,  some  happy  dream, 
Of  singing  birds,  of  daffodils, 
Of  olive  branches,  or  the  gleam 
Of  dew-shine  on  the  Syrian  hills. 


[94] 


SONGS 


SONGS 


Sweetest,  let  no  cloud  of  sorrow 

SWEETEST,  let  no  cloud  of  sorrow 
Cast  a  shadow  o'er  us; 
Let  no  dark  foreboding  borrow 
One  bright  ray  from  that  tomorrow 
Beckoning  before  us. 

Weary  waiting,  toil  and  trouble — 
These  shall  not  confound  us. 
All.  the  hardship  is  a  bubble : 
We  can  love,  and  that  is  double 
All  the  world  around  us. 

Can  it  matter,  sweetest,  whether 
Days  be  dull  or  shining  ? 
If  our  hearts  are  knit  together, 
Summer  time  or  winter  weather 
Ne'er  shall  know  repining. 


[97] 


THE  WINGS  OF  OPPRESSION 


Lady,  who  is  richer  far 

LADY  who  is  richer  far 
Than  titled  heirs  or  princes  are  ? 
Who  hath  quaffed  a  drink  divine 
Rarer  than  the  rarest  wine? 

He  to  whom  your  eyes  are  kind, 
He  to  whom  you  have  a  mind, 
Who  by  your  proud  election  sips 
The  honeyed  nectar  of  your  lips. 


SONGS 


All  through  the  day  I  bore  the  pain 

ALL  through  the  day  I  bore  the  pain 
Of  following  after  thee  in  vain. 
All  through  the  night  the  demons  sent  me 
Dream  and  fancy  to  torment  me. 
Now  the  hope  I  built  upon 
Rises  with  another  sun, 
And  whatever  the  toil  or  pain 
I  follow  after  thee  again. 


[99] 


THE  WINGS  OF  OPPRESSION 


Mutatis  Mutandis 

WHEN  my  lady  goeth  fairly, 
And  her  countenance  is  rarely 
Lighted  by  the  things  that  please  her, 
Mien  and  happy  mood  according 
Are  themselves  the  sweet  rewarding 
Of  the  kindling  eye  that  sees  her. 

But  when  her  course  is  out  of  measure, 
Or  some  stirring  of  displeasure 
Tints  her  face  with  hues  that  never 
Fell  on  canvas,  or  from  darkling 
Troubled  brow  her  eyes  are  sparkling, 
She  is  lovelier  than  ever. 


[100] 


POEMS  OF  THE  SPIRIT 


POEMS  OF  THE  SPIRIT 


A  Prayer 

O  MASTER,  let  me  labor  through  the  day 
Quietly,  yet  with  clear,  unswerving  aim. 
Teach  me  indifference  to  praise  or  blame, 
So  long  as  with  good  conscience  I  can  say 
I  sought  to  find  the  straight  and  narrow  way. 
If  suddenly  the  fires  of  passion  flame 
About  me,  .let  me  calm  them  with  that  Name 
Which  in  my  heart  I  never  could  betray. 
And  when  the  light  fails,  and  untroubled  sleep 
Has  clothed  my  senses  with  its  sweet  reward, 
0  give  my  spirit  then  a  large  increase 
Of  strength  for  one  more  day  of  striving ;  keep 
The  gateway  of  my  dreams ;  and  wake  me,  Lord, 
To  walk  again  the  manly  paths  of  peace. 


[103] 


A  Far  Country 


B 


EYOND  the  cities  I  have  seen, 
Beyond  the  wrack  and  din, 


There  is  a  wide  and  fair  demesne 
Where  I  have  never  been. 

Away  from  desert  wastes  of  greed, 
Over  the  peaks  of  pride, 
Across  the  seas  of  mortal  need 
Its  citizens  abide. 

And  through  the  distance  though  I  see 
How  stern  must  be  the  fare, 
My  feet  are  ever  fain  to  be 
Upon  the  journey  there. 

In  that  far  land  the  only  school 
The  dwellers  all  attend 
Is  built  upon  the  Golden  Rule, 
And  man  to  man  is  friend. 

No  war  is  there  nor  war's  distress, 
But  truth  and  love  increase — 
It  is  a  realm  of  pleasantness, 
And  all  her  paths  are  peace. 

[104] 


POEMS  OF  THE  SPIRIT 


Nil  Desperandum 

OFT  when  the  way  I  go  lies  hard  and  steep 
Before  me,  and  I  cannot  see  my  goal : 
When  those  dream-kindled  hopes  wherewith  my 

soul 

Lighted  the  path  have  failed ;  when  I  could  weep 
To  think  how  slow,  unfirm  a  pace  I  keep, 
How  weak  my  faith,  how  slight  my  self-control, 
Or  will  to  speed  me  forward,  though  the  whole 
0  'er-ripe  world-harvest  waits  ahead  to  reap ; — 
Oft  in  these  hours  I  listen  to  the  voice 
Of  seers  and  heroes  through  the  ages  past, 
Who  knew  at  length  the  metes  and  bounds  of 

fate, 

And  always,  whatsoe'er  their  lot  or  choice, 
One  clear  command  they  give :  Or  slow  or  fast, 
Despair  not,  trust  thyself,  and  trusting,  wait. 


THE  WINGS  OF  OPPRESSION 


Ideal 

OWHEN   I    am   tossed   on    the   waters    of 
sorrow, 

Uncertain  and  sick,  without  compass  or  goal, 
With  no  light  for  today,  and  no  hope  for  to 
morrow, 
And  fear  is  a  torture  to  body  and  soul ; 

When  fruitless  endeavor,  or  thwarted  ambition, 
The  anguish  of  loving  or  physical  pain 
Brings  sobering  thoughts  of  the  rapid  transition 
Of  year  into  year  without  comfort  or  gain — 

It  is  easy  and  well  from  out  of  that  sorrow, 
0  infinite  Goodness,  to  cry  unto  Thee 
For  light  for  today,  and  hope  for  tomorrow, 
For  guidance  and  faith  on  a  desolate  sea. 

But  teach  me,  0  Spirit,  that  harder  devotion 
When  skies  are  serene  and  the  sailing  is  fair, 
When  the  haven  lies  white  on  the  rim  of  the 

ocean, 
And  love  is  the  captain  to  pilot  me  there. 

[106] 


For  if  then  I  remember  to  honor  and  love  Thee, 
And  own  that  from  Thee  every  blessing  is  sent, 
When  the  waters  of  sorrow  would  gather  above 

me 
Thy  merciful  care  shall  be  quick  to  prevent. 


[107] 


THE  WINGS  OF  OPPRESSION 


The  Wonder 

I   MARVEL  not  to  see  the  works  of  God. 
The  mighty  river  rolling  to  the  sea, 
The  sunlit  mountain  crowned  eternally 
With  crystal  snow,  the  earthquake  like  a  rod 
Of  vengeance,  trumpet  winds  and  flowers  that 

nod 

In  beauty,  all  the  heavenly  majesty — 
These  from  my  childhood  up  have  been  to  me 
Familiar  voices  saying,  "God  is  God." 
But  evermore  the  wonder  grows  amain 
That  we,  slight  creatures,  should  ourselves  com 
mand 

The  uses  and  the  beauty  of  the  whole 
To  build  a  harp,  with  strings  of  joy  and  pain 
In  endless  range,  whereon  the  Master's  hand 
May  strike  the  music  of  a  human  soul. 


;io8] 


POEMS  OF  THE  SPIRIT 


Watch  Night 

*r  I^IS  mystic  midnight,  and  the  bell 

JL    Cleaves  the  cold  air  and  tolls  away 
The  haggard  year.    Alas !  no  spell 
Can  lure  him  on  to  meet  the  day. 

The  new  year  at  the  selfsame  hour 
On -winged  sandals  never  slack 
Begins  his  course.    Alas !  no  power 
Can  hold  his  flying  footsteps  back. 

Stay  not,  0  heart,  for  time  nor  tide, 
Nor  count  the  days  that  now  are  done, 
But  spread  the  wings  of  purpose  wide, 
Coeval  with  the  rising  sun. 


[109] 


THE  WINGS  OF  OPPRESSION 


Values 

IN  God 's  high  heaven  and  in  His  earth 
These  things  I  hold  of  matchless  worth 
Health  and  a  task,  the  dreams  of  youth, 
Beauty  and  law,  and  love,  and  truth. 


[no] 


POEMS  OF  THE  SPIRIT 


Tyrant  Beauty 

MY  mind  is  set  on  earnest  days 
And  nights  of  quiet  sleeping, 
But  beauty  over  all  my  ways 
A  tyrant  watch  is  keeping. 

She  haunts  me  in  a  lovely  face, 
By  pool  and  stream  she  stays  me, 
Her  form  in  every  cloud  I  trace, 
Her  starry  sky  betrays  me. 

Hers  is  the  mantling  down  of  snow, 
Hers  is  the  solemn  warning 
Of  dirges  that  the  north  winds  blow, 
And  hers  the  burst  of  morning. 

She  forges  all  the  human  ties 

That  bind  me  to  my  neighbor; 

She  wreathes  the  laurel  crown  that  lies 

Upon  the  brow  of  labor. 

A  golden  bird  in  a  budding  tree 
Pours  out  his  heart  in  singing — 

[in] 


THE  WINGS  OF  OPPRESSION 

Which  tells  the  more  of  beauty,  he 
Or  the  bud  where  the  sap  is  springing  ? 

No  time  or  place  is  left  to  me 
By  night  or  day  for  resting ; 
Her  finger  points,  and  I  must  be 
Adventuring  and  questing. 

Let  this  austere  dominion  cease, 
0  beauty,  to  distress  me, 
Or  grant  to  me  a  vast  increase 
Of  power  to  express  thee. 


[112] 


The  Three  Marys 

THAT  blessed  morn  three  Marys  came 
To  glorify  the  Easter  scene — 
Martha's  sister,  Mary  dame, 
And  the  repentant  Magadalene. 

One  by  a  perfect  love  was  led, 

One -brought  a  mother's  sore  distress, 

One  wore  upon  her  lovely  head 

A  chastened  crown  of  thankfulness. 

And  these  by  loyal  suffering 
Were  made  as  one  in  sweet  accord, 
Through  whom  the  generations  bring 
Increasing  homage  to  their  Lord. 


THE  WINGS  OF  OPPRESSION 


Companionship 

I  CLOSED  the  door  and  turned  the  key 
And  spread  my  book  upon  my  knee, 
But  though  I  pondered  well  that  lore, 
I  ended  wanting  something  more. 

I  called  a  comrade  friend  to  share 
My  quiet  room.    His  speech  was  fair, 
His  spirit  high,  his  discourse  wide, 
But  I  was  still  unsatisfied. 

Then  in  the  stillness  all  alone 
My  soul  rose  up  to  claim  her  own 
Inviolable  right  to  be, 
0  Father,  face  to  face  with  Thee. 


POEMS  OF  THE  SPIRIT 


Home  is  the  Heart 

MY  dwelling  place  hath  ever  been 
A  spirit-builded  home  within, 
And  though  at  whiles  I  fare  apart, 
My  mistress  still  is  mistress  heart. 

Sometimes  the  brazen  horn  success 
Drowns  all  her  tones  of  tenderness, 
And  then  I  goad  my  will  and  dream 
To  win  the  things  that  men  esteem. 

Sometimes  the  meaning  and  the  end 
Of  living  seems  to  be  a  friend, 
Whose  comprehending  kindred  mind 
Is  all  the  boon  I  crave  to  find. 

And  often,  too,  where  beauty 's  sign 
Appears,  I  make  that  standard  mine, 
While  pleasure  lifts  a  luring  voice 
To  rob  my  will  of  other  choice. 

Then  honor  calls ;  the  give  and  take 
Of  combat  stirs  my  soul  awake, 


THE  WINGS  OF  OPPRESSION 

Where  men  through  troubled  ages  long 
Clash  in  the  lists  of  right  and  wrong. 

But  what  success  can  be  complete  ? 
What  perfect  friends  did  ever  meet 
In  fellowship  so  well  inspired 
But  something  more  was  still  desired  ? 

And  beauty  wanes,  and  pleasure  palls, 
And  all  the  pride  of  honor  falls 
When  carnal  strife  has  claimed  her  toll 
Of  ravished  limb  and  tarnished  soul. 

With  clearer  vision  then  I  see 
Content  in  these  can  never  be, 
And  all  the  folly  is  disclosed 
Of  trust  in  outward  things  reposed. 

And  with  that  lesson  I  return 
To  where  the  lamps  of  loving  burn — 
Turn  home  again — and  now  aright 
I  walk  by  an  unfailing  light. 


[116] 


Compensation 

IF  only  in  thine  heart  there  be 
Some  depth  of  earnest  gratitude 
For  life 's  great  bounties  unto  thee, 
Though  pain  will  come  and  fears  intrude, 
Thou  canst  not  wholly  miss  the  crown 
Of  those  by  heaven  accounted  blessed  : 
Patience  will  bring  a  healing  down, 
And  peace  will  give  the  spirit  rest. 


["7] 


THE  WINGS  OF  OPPRESSION 


Certainty 

WHAT  have  I  fathomed  of  life, 
What  of  its  medley  of  strife, 
Sorrow  and  solace  profound? 
What  can  we  creatures  of  dust 
Stand  upon,  swear  by,  and  trust, 
What  my  unshakable  ground? 

This :  that  though  evil  be  strong, 
Goodness  prevaileth  ere  long, 
However  betrayed  or  beset ; 
That  he  his  own  spirit  doth  smother 
Who  willeth  the  hurt  of  another, 
And  this:  that  God  liveth  yet. 


[118] 


POEMS  OF  THE  SPIRIT 


In  the  Still  Night 

IN  the  still  night  there  conies  to  me 
The  blessed  boon  of  liberty. 
From  all  the  cares  that  chafed  and  choked, 
The  spirit  is  at  last  unyoked 
To  seek  her  heaven,  as  she  ought, 
On  sturdy  wings  of  fearless  thought. 
Then  come  the  dreams  which  through  the  day 
The  moil  of  living  shuts  away. 
Then  can  the  soul  her  fountains  fill, 
While  all  the  universe  is  still, 
From  streams  of  quietness  that  rise 
Out  of  the  hills  of  Paradise. 
And  I  can  tell  the  day  was  meant 
For  some  design  beneficent, 
For  sweet-imagined  sounds  I  hear, 
And  forms  of  beauty  hover  near 
To  win  me  to  the  perfect  trust 
That  life  is  good,  and  God  is  just, 
And  permeates  His  world  whereof 
The  essence  and  the  end  is  love. 


THE  WINGS  OF  OPPRESSION 


Father  Love 

T  unto  him  does  heaven  grant  to  bend 
By  day  and  night  above  the  creamy  cheek 
And  dimpled  smile  of  baby.     'Tis  the  meek, 
Sweet  privilege  of  mother  to  attend 
The  cradle  shrine.    There  patience  without  end 
Wins  her  a  beauty  words  can  never  speak. 
Her  troubled  joy  has  nothing  more  to  seek 
Where  life  and  love  in  one  devotion  blend. 
For  him  the  roughened  world,  all  day  for  him 
The  tyrant  task,  the  tension  of  the  mind. 
But  toil  were  vain  as  any  froth  or  foam, 
Were  not  that  hour  to  come  when  twilight  dim 
Brings  weariness,  and  father  turns  to  find 
Rest  with  the  blessed  angels  of  his  home. 


[120] 


POEMS  OF  THE  SPIRIT 


Divine  Affinity 

'npWERE  vain,  0  God,  in  me  to  tell 

I      Thy  potency  divine: 
Omniscience  surely  knoweth  well 
How  much  of  me  is  thine. 
As  is  the  steel  to  the  magnet  bar, 
As  to  the  rose  the  bee, 
The  earth  to  its  compelling  star  , 
So  am  I,  God,  to  Thee. 


[121] 


THE  WINGS  OF  OPPRESSION 


Learning  to  Walk 

OUR  little  cherub  learned  today 
To  stand  alone  and  make  her  way. 
With  faltering  will  and  timid  feet 
From  mother's  knee  to  father's  seat. 

With  many  a  failure,  many  a  pause, 
Now  by  rebuke,  now  by  applause, 
With  tears  and  oft-recurring  doubt, 
She  toiled  her  little  journey  out. 

And  ever  as  her  faith  declined, 

She  strove  anew,  for  there  behind 

Was  mother's  sweetly  crooned  command, 

And  on  ahead  her  father's  hand. 

And  0,  at  last  when  she  survived 

Her  tiny  perils  and  arrived, 

What  depths  of  feeling  unexpressed 

Were  stirred  within  each  guardian  breast! 

We  older  children  of  the  earth 

Have  journeyed  farther  from  our  birth, 

[122] 


POEMS  OF  THE  SPIRIT 


But  doubt  and  pain  and  dark  delay 
Attend  the  journey  all  the  way. 

And  all  our  balm  for  heart  or  mind 
Is  merely  this,  that  we  shall  find, 
Before  we  come  to  utter  harm, 
The  refuge  of  a  Father's  arm. 


THE  WINGS  OF  OPPRESSION 


The  Teacher 

LORD,  who  am  I  to  teach  the  way 
To  little  children  day  by  day, 
So  prone  myself  to  go  astray? 

I  teach  them  knowledge,  but  I  know 
How  faint  they  flicker  and  how  low 
The  candles  of  my  knowledge  glow. 

I  teach  them  power  to  will  and  do, 

But  only  now  to  learn  anew 

My  own  great  weakness  through  and  through. 

I  teach  them  love  for  all  mankind 
And  all  God's  ceatures,  but  I  find 
My  love  comes  lagging  far  behind. 

Lord,  if  their  guide  I  still  must  be, 

Oh  let  the  little  children  see 

The  teacher  leaning  hard  on  Thee. 


[124] 


DATE  DUE 


CAYLORD 


